


Salve Me, Qui Salvandos Salvas Gratis

by N3kkra



Series: Songs of My Fandoms [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, blind betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N3kkra/pseuds/N3kkra
Summary: Blind Betrayal in which Nora refuses to kill Danse and leaves him to decide if he's going to do it himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The song 'City of the Dead' by Eurielle and a comment made under the lyric video inspired this work, and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I decided to write it. I cried a lot, hopefully you will to, because that means I wrote it well. Blind Betrayal is usually the hardest on the feels in the game.

            Nora had never been good with her words. She always spoke outright and honestly, and Danse had thought that was what he’d needed right now. But what he hadn’t expected was to end up getting lectured and then left. Elder Maxson had given her orders, and she refused to follow them. She would not kill him, but he needed to be exterminated.

            He had spent the last three days preparing himself for whoever found him. He was not armed, and he was only dressed in his uniform, having removed his hood so he could run his fingers through his hair in distress.

            Of course Maxson would send Knight Walker after him. It was a test of sorts. To see who her loyalties would follow, her mentor or her Elder. It was a tactical decision, and he didn’t think either man could have guessed what happened would.

            She rode that elevator down, her laser rifle aimed and ready. Shot down the protectrons he had neglected to turn off, but had avoided when he came in. Then she marched right up to him and demanded to know what the hell was going on.

            There were several times he’d asked himself why he brought her into the Brotherhood ranks. She had been married to a solider before the war, but she herself, was not a good one. Mercenary work was far more to her liking, and it showed with the company she kept in that insubordinate civilian, MacCready. He was thankful she didn’t bring him with her when she came here at first.

            Then she refused to kill him.

            She told him she wouldn’t do it, and he told her he wouldn’t let her risk her position in the Brotherhood for him –an abomination. And she told him that if he wanted to die so badly, he could do it himself.

            And then she left him.

            He watched her go, taking with her the last hope he’d had of a painless death. The death he had prepared himself for.

            Three long days he had worked himself up to kneel before a Brotherhood laser rifle and accept the execution that he was due.

            And now that’d been taken from him just like his life.

            Just like his entire understanding of who he was.

            But he wouldn’t let her, no matter his opinion on the matter, risk her chance to destroy the Institute, to rescue the Commonwealth, on him. So he would do it. He would do what she refused to and told him to do.

            She had left him the laser rifle he gave her when she first helped him so many months ago.

            Righteous Authority, he had named it. How appropriate it would be the weapon to kill him.

            Danse picked up the laser rifle, running is gloved fingers over the surface. She hadn’t taken good care of the weapon. It had new scars, deep gashes that could have been mended. A new sight had been added, though, so she had taken that much time at least.

            His jaw clenched and he took a deep breath, sitting down in one of the old chairs. It wasn’t the first time he’d considered shooting himself, but it had always been different. That had been because of what he’d seen, what he’d done, and had always been late during sleepless nights when his past haunted him.

            How could a synth suffer like this?

            How could a synth sweat not only from exertion, but from fear? His flight suit stuck to his back as he stared down at Righteous Authority now. How could a synth have nightmares that feel so real? Weren’t synths just machines? Why would they need to dream at all?

            How could a synth _feel_? He felt so much, sometimes he felt too much. The sorrow of his Brothers and Sisters dying at his feet in battle, the pride of watching those he’s mentored move on to become successful, the hope that Maxson had filled him with when he spoke of saving the Commonwealth.

            How could he, as a synth, feel anything, feel human, and believe he was if he was not?

            Nothing about himself gave him any doubt he was human.

            He ate.

            He slept.

            He required the same rest breaks as his comrades.

            He forgot things.

            He misspoke.

            He was not perfect, like every human he’d met before.

            Danse could not think of a single thing that kept him from being human.

            Until he tried to remember his childhood.

            There were flashes… things he thought he remembered, but he didn’t have a good image of his parents, or know if he had siblings. He just _knew_ that he had been born and when he was old enough to live on his own, he went to Rivet City and met Jason Cutler. Those memories had to be real. The Brotherhood had records of Cutler. He… couldn’t be sure where the memories that were his ended and the manufactured ones began.

            Cutler had never asked him about his childhood, and never spoke of his own. Had… Cutler known? Had he known what Danse was?

            He had been very… hesitant to join the Brotherhood, until Danse pushed for it so. He felt like a soldier, always had the skills he thought, like they had been something he’d done most of his life. Weapons and field training came so easily to him he flew through the early ranks quickly, and Cutler struggled to keep up.

            Eleven years he’d been in the Brotherhood. He was on his way up. Maxson had mentioned the position of Star Paladin coming –an honor as he would share the same responsibilities as a Paladin-Commander, but would be recognized more for the feats he’d accomplished. Star Paladin was also that much closer to Sentinel.

            Danse hadn’t been expecting to reach that rank for another decade or so, if at all, but he knew the trust and pride that Arthur had in him. He almost expected more from Danse, and the Paladin had never been one to let his Elder down.

            But how can you keep from disappointing someone, when the reason they hate you is because of what you are?

            “ _Salve me_ …” he whispered the old Latin words. Hoping that it would bring Nora, or even Arthur down to him so that he did not have to do this himself. “ _Salve me, qui salvandos salvas gratis_.”

            ‘Save me, who saves through grace those who are to be freed.’

            No one came.

            Righteous Authority hummed to life and he swallowed hard, turning the rifle around and pressed the cold barrel to his forehead. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knees and took a deep breath that shook, running a freezing chill down his spine.

            “ _Salve me_ ,” he repeated again and squeezed his eyes shut.

            He wished he could say this was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but looking at the super mutant that Cutler had been turned into and shooting it was harder. It was almost like… he needed that for this to happen. If he had not gone through that, he wouldn’t have the strength to do this now.

            But how he wished that Nora would have done it.

            How he wished that Arthur would come down that elevator and look him in the eye and do it.

            No soldier should have to take their own life. A soldier was never meant to be alone.

            It was his mistake. He shouldn’t have run and should have accepted the punishment. But now it was too late for that. He had to end it now because honestly, it made him sick to think that he was not human.

            That he was a synth.

            A machine posing as human.

            The fact that he hadn’t already shot himself yet made him want to throw up.

            If he had been told to hunt down another soldier and execute them for being a synth, he would have done it. No hesitation, because that’s what a Brotherhood of Steel soldier deserved.

            That’s what he deserved.

            He might be a synth, but the holotags hanging around his neck –weighing him down, keeping him from pulling that trigger– told him he was a soldier. And no soldier should have to die like this.

            Cold.

            Alone.

            By their own hand.

            But he was a synth.

            And this was how it had to be.

            One last time he whispered, “ _Salve me…_ ”

            He paused. Listened to the elevator for any sound of movement.

            Then Paladin Danse took a deep, deep, shaky breath and straightened up in his chair, sitting with his shoulders square. He summoned up all of his strength, and shifted Righteous Authority around in his grasp to hold the humming barrel against his right temple.

            His brown eyes were squeezed shut.

            His jaw was clenched tight.

            His finger curled around the trigger.

            He sucked in a breath through his nose.

            His lips parted, and he uttered, “ _Ad Victoriam, semper invicta_.”

            And the elevator chimed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! for reading! Kudos! Subscribing! Commenting! it all!
> 
> Have a great day!
> 
> I look forward to seeing you in another fic!


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